‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. Jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. Not that there had ever been any hope of that.
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